I'm going to be here for a while,
treading softly downtown,
the black water of a deserted intersection.
I used to think
it was so peaceful here,
thick wood and
neon dancers and
the brush of back streets.
Everything's changed - do you feel it?
Empty cycles,
a hand holding tomorrow
in gnarled life,
the glisten of
early anger.
Can anything ever be the same again?
Dirt path - night,
a sharp crest,
the surface of the highway
steers them off the side of the road and
up through the woods.
She slides her arms around him -
tenderness in her gesture
when you least expect it.
Looking up, Orion's best over-awed
to understand the good reason
for tonight,
threat, relief approaching.
The girl is amplified,
never saw so many stars.
Driving hysterical
we blindly move to
face the need,
to look at God, his cheek a
shallow trench.
Let go of
what we started,
the comforting pull of
reacting to dirt.
Together, we bury this act,
the other half of a gold heart,
a white rock to mark the spot.
We shouldn't be seen here.
Slide into the hole,
hide what just happened.
High like a nightmare,
there are things about me
I still can't believe
and you,
a different thought, anguished.
I wanted to get better but
it wasn't making any sense,
pulled into any alibi,
the fades of levelling fault.
I knew you'd hate this, a calm
kind of dying I had to see
from the inside.
It's okay to hold on
to the light, so urgent
in its last time.
It's not your fault
this is so desperate,
yielding to the kiss of distance.
I have to explain this:
we went riding out here,
watching, whispering sweetheart, a step back from a different thought.
Everybody's looking for you,
black leather and a little trouble,
quiet reaction throughout a nightmare.
Settle down;
I'll take you to the road, holding hands.
We'll find her under low lights,formica tables and Rhapsody in Blue,the only woman in the distance.Hook in about what happened,broken up and drinking,knife whistles through the matter of fact.It's just a little trouble tomention what you mean,worry driving out of arough idea of when she might come back.
I will not specify
obvious reasons to
creep back,
the full flower of answers
in a chug of night.
A traffic light cycles
from green to yellow to red,
witch to protect half
of a golden heart,
enact animal similarities.
Huddle against the darkness.
She rides silently
through quiet streets.
Shaking in the big picture
I wish I could tell you that
you're fortunate enough
not to hear the wind
through the pines.
An owl your connection,
hunt a drugged glazed,
nearly deaf to the night.
To claim the same fate,
attended by Fear,
preoccupies the seemingly insignificant.
Your attention meticulously snaps,
the sound of caution.
I know I promised
not to call but
I have to see you.
There's two things.
First:
this house is humming,
strained at the heel
of a black pump and
a sterling column of urgent tones.
And:
I want to re-establish clean silences.
Cigarettes in any ashtray
can snap right through to exasperation,
translate a hand to forehead
simultaneously.
What is so difficult to understand?
Best nature pained, a hard smile.
It's okay.
It's okay.
You smoke with
gloved hand,
sirens small in the distance,
obediently wailing.
Gently take off my
dirty jeans,
overlooking the
wooded valley, filled deep,
a saturated trail.
We are a folded piece of paper,
blood across a dirt floor
written in what could be fire.
Walk with me,
unable to be gold,
to lovingly frame
my eye, my face.
Don't say exactly
what it is you're
talking about until
we see the light
sweep slowly
across the walls.
Talk a little,
holding back an
open bottle,
closed fist.
You've been through a lot today,
head busted open - we see half a heart,
your face torn.
The time rises.
Enter your best
patterns, a high crest of
sympathetic exit.
Close to the lens,
a partial reflection
in the pupil of
a typed page.
Run at a normal speed.
We're finished in the background.
We found where it happened,
remains three miles
east of the highway.
Ghostwood Forest, a gate;
I got it figured,
protecting what was
really out there.
Deep into the woods,
alone, just the two of you;
are you okay?
I don't think we ever forget
falling, easy fight,
the life of open evening.
The last entry,
something to get started on.
I didn't cry but
what difference does it make?
I can't believe the forest;
it won't answer the questions
that we ask, rises a fight.
You ever been surprised before,
sunlit but slightly fuzzy?
I didn't love, anyway,
cocaine positive, doubt the innocent,
impossible control.
Nervous about meeting J tonight.
He said trouble to give -
that's something to get started on,
looking all over for
instant recognition
behind the Roadhouse,
in the driver's seat,
blue neon and a
folded note - am I this happy
sparsely opened?
Told you we'd see this again:
the letter R
on a tiny piece of paper,
light attached to the victim.
He left us with a white speck, magnifying.
The looking glass dislodges.
Resume scene.
We've got a lot to talk about.
Focus on the sound,
white-tiled room and
humming machinery, throb of
distinctive wounds.
I need something to grab onto,
my connection suffering,
a witness to
the dead girl, autopsy
under the nail of her finger.
Leave us alone, please,
damage not responsive,
particles scraped up to a
horrified whine.
I'd like to look at her,
exposure to one word
that she hasn't said,
a shroud of pine.
We were close more than once.
Up towards a sign that reads,
"Welcome to Twin Peaks, Population 51,201,"
trees growing all around,
there are a few things
we ought to get straight:
the weatherman said rain and
I'm riding on fumes
five miles south of the
Canadian border, west of the state line,
and that girl they
pulled off the mountain, well,
I've learned this the hard way,
shaken, shaken.
What has happened,
your attention missing
since last night.
I suffered the loss of emotion
in empty storms,
reckless wind
off the highway
in the lights.
I have decided that today
all work here will stop,
extend into thin life,
a black patch of speed.
Nightfall drapes the hallway,
a folded note of steep decline.
Perhaps I will be full
once again.
I heard
she was the one,
standing bruised,
bra and panties and
bloodied bare feet.
To speak aimlessly,
choking back a
dark thicket is to cut
the oxygen in an act of
helpless care,
a dead state.
Brutalized,
it is helpless
to give.
You were getting ready for bed,
prayers quietly urgent,
a fractured syntax of signals.
White-haired words
in the last night of rest,
you didn't come to
gently question comfort.
The body was found in words,
the loss of good wishes
to guide our thoughts,
halt the day.
You shut down,
returning to silence,
the red stress of abandon.
